


Daily Phlint

by sianii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Daily Phlint, Fluff, M/M, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 04:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sianii/pseuds/sianii
Summary: I just remembered that I had these lying aroung on tumblr, so I edited them and left them here for prosperity. Just some short, cute oneshots about my ClintCoulson headcanons.1. Commitment: Phil realises he wants more with Clint.2. Trauma and relief: Coulson died and came back, but Clint finds out way after the fact.3. Breath: Clint isn't the most tidy person, but he sure has one pet peeve.





	1. Commitment

It hits Phil like a fright train how actually not casual his feelings for Clint are.  
Phil had to handle something with Nat in Thailand, while Shield's best marksman had been needed stateside. Sitwell had been on point.   
It really hadn’t been Sitwell’s fault, less so Clint’s of course; sometimes you just got blindsided by bad intel. Either way it ends with both men getting out just so and being rushed to medical as soon as their backup manages to get to them.

Phil hears about what happened when Nat and he are on route to Fury’s office after they land. Maria stops them on their way, telling them what had happened and immediately reassuring them that Sitwell is not in critical condition and that Clint will be absolutely fine, once his shot wound is healed.

Phil feels attachment and responsibility for all the agents in his care and despite his best efforts they end up getting hurt or worse from time to time and it always hurts him. This is worse. It feels like the ground just cracked up beneath his feet and he is falling and falling. It's only Natasha’s levelled gaze and Maria’s puzzled look that make him grasp for his professional facade and head to his meeting with Fury instead of sprinting to medical.

It’s already after hours when the meeting finally wraps up. Most of the agents are out for the night, only a few burning the midnight oil. The medical floor is also mostly deserted, safe for the night staff. Phil sneaks in, trying not to draw attention and get thrown out. He could probably get in, with his clearance level and being Clint’s handler and all, but the medical staff here is specifically trained and does not give into many things that diverge from protocol.

He finds Clint’s room easily. He’s careful not to make a sound or turn on the lights as he enters. The blinds are drawn but he can still clearly see Clint, enough light coming in from the city. He is knocked out cold, hospital gown wrapped around his bruised body, lying on the hospital bed. He is actually strapped to it, with heavy leather straps. It makes Phil give out a chocked chuckle. Of course Clint would have tried to get out of medical, shot wound or no.

Phil gingerly sits down on the plastic chair next to Clint’s bed. His hand hoovers a moment over Clint’s, unsure if he should take it, is allowed to take it. They’ve known each other for a decade, they’ve been having casual sex for half a year but this here, is different. It feels like an intimacy that goes beyond what Clint has consented to. The need to feel Clint alive and close wins over though and Phil weaves their fingers together, his other hand finding the pulse point at Clint’s wrist. It's beating slow but steady. Warm. Alive. Phil feels something in his throat loosening.

Minutes go by before Clint reacts to his presence. “You here to break me out, Sir?” Clint’s voice is slurred, equal parts from sleep and the drugs, they are steadily pumping into his blood stream through the injection on his other wrist.

“Seems like that would be at least attempt two,” Phil says because all the other things he wants to say are too big, too serious for where they are, emotionally and logistically. Clint is more lucid and disgruntled when he speaks again. “The nurses tied me down. The fuck kinda hospital is this?” The statement makes Phil smile and he starts to draw little circles over Clint’s pulse point. “One that likes to have their patients recover, I recon, and not bleed out all over the hallways in an ill advised attempt to discharge themselves, hours after a potentially fatal shot wound.”

Clint is silent after that. Maybe he fell asleep, maybe he is actually silenced by Phil’s words or maybe he is speechless due to the emotion evident Phil’s cracking voice.

Finally Clint’s speaks again. It’s quiet but curious. “Don’t you have better things to do than hold my hand at 2 in the morning? You know like, get some sleep in your comfy bed?” The honest answer to that would tell Clint everything about feelings Phil just realised he had. He's not ready for that. Still, Phil has never been one to sell himself short, back down from a confrontation or stay away from the things he wanted.

“Go out with me,” he finally says which is, in a way, an answer to Clint’s question.

“I thought you weren’t going to break me out,” Clint quips and Phil has to smile. He squeezes Clint’s hand. “Not now. Once you’re recovered.” Clint’s hand is the only point of contact between them and Phil feels the urge to get up and wrap himself around Clint, to shield him from the world and all its monstrosities. He doesn’t. For one he would probably hurt Clint in the condition he is now and secondly he knows that this is not how their world works. What he does though is speak again before Clint can say anything else. “I want more than what we are now. I want all of it. All of you.”

“Well now Philip Coulson, are you me asking to go steady?” Clint drawls in that southern twang, that he sometimes pulls out to tease him, making Phil smile again. “I suppose I am.” Clint finally squeezes his hand back.

“Yes,” he says simply and Phil can’t believe the happiness one simple word can elicit. He presses a soft kiss to Clint’s cheek then; he can hear Clint’s breath stutter for a second.

Phil stays till the drugs make Clint fall asleep again.

Clint never tells him that he was serious about them from the moment their lips touched for the first time. He is just relieved that Phil has finally caught up with him.


	2. Trauma and relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the sweet comments on the first little ficlet. I had really forgotten about the Daily Phlint happening two years ago on tumblr but man I miss it. The only things long enough to post are these three and the third one is dumb and short, so I'll post it later. Maybe there will come a time where I write another one and put it up here. If not I am glad you'll have liked these three.

It isn’t till after the battle of New York that Clint is told about Coulson’s death. They have just defeated an alien army, it’s been less than a day that Clint has had the remenants of his mind restored and that he’s meet the team that he’s suddenly part of and now they are sitting in some half destroyed deli and having shawarma.

It is then that Cap raises his cup of soda and says “To Phil Coulson. The greatest of us all.” Everyone lifts their cup along Cap and repeates the toast, with a sobriety and sadness that says more than a thousand words. Everyone except him and Natasha. Nat looks looks straight at him, alarm in the brightness of her eyes and Clint just goes hot and cold at the same time. He doesn’t manage to form anything but a silent "The Hell?” and Nat murmurs “I wanted to wait till…,” and he is out of his chair, out of the store and running. He doesn’t know where exactly. He has no transport back to the carrier at this point, not even a com to reach Fury. He feels arms around him and he stops to a halt.

“You didn’t hear me yelling,” Nat says close to his ear and it speaks volumes that he hadn’t felt her following him. “How?” It’s a quiet gasp in the bussle that is already starting to be the biggest clean up in NYC since 9/11.

“Loki.” The answer was obvious and it still makes Clint’s stomach turn with the millions of ways he might have aided what had befallen the man he had loved most in the world. He doesn’t cry. Not yet. Not here. Nat seems to feel his need for retreat though, as she pulls him into one of the cars that has miracoulasly survived the battle, puts him into the passgenger seat and hotwires the engine. She drives them to his appartment building with the promise of his bed and warmth and details because as much as he is afraid to know, he also needs to know.

When Hydra comes out of the shadows and Cap, Nat, Hill and some guy called Sam Wilson take down Hydra along with what was left of Shield, they make millions of documents accessible to the general public. While the agency that has been home to Clint for nearly two decades evaporates, he is in deep cover. His only contacts are Fury, Hill and Nat and so its the news that tells him about what happened in DC. He can reach none of them over their secure channels, so it feels like the right moment to take the initiative say “Go fuck it” and leave the operation for an agency, that no longer seems to exist, in shambles.

Three days after the helicarrier incident, he sits in an airport waiting for his flight back stateside and with a couple of hours to kill. The selfdestructive streak he has been battling with since Coulson’s death resourfaces in the inpersonal dirty brightness of the waiting area. Shield was all he had left of Phil and it feels like he died all over again. Sure, Cap keeps saying that it was thanks to Phil that they became the Avengers but that’s not exactly true. Not for Clint anyway. So he gets out his Starkphone, logs on the Internet and accesses the site, where all of Shield is out in the open now, for the world to see. He searches for Phil, expecting old operation reports, maybe some personal files, probably a report about his death. What he finds is Project Tahiti, a report on a new, small-scale team and reports about operations dating back mere weeks before the end of Shield. Some of it is still heavily redacted for some reason but one thing is unbelievably clear: Phil Coulson is alive. Coulson. Alive.

He feels hot and cold all over again, very similar to how he felt, when he found out Phil was dead. His heart starts beating erratically and he feels his body shaking. He gets his phone out and tries again to reach Fury, then Hill and finally Nat. It’s a number only he has. A personal one. She hadn’t picked up so far but finally she does.

“Yes?” He is both relieved and furious to have her on the line.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” he grits out. Nat has the audacity to chuckle.

“Don’t know, if you caught the news Hawkeye but things have been blowing up around me the past week. Congress, actually the worst part of it.”

“Not what I mean.” That gives her pause and Clint is actually unsure for a second so he presses on. “Phil is alive.” His voice breaks a bit on the last word. Saying them out loud makes it so real and at the same time it sounds like a mad dream. Nat takes a while to answere.

“Clint,” she finally says and it sounds too sympathetic, too consoling. It’s a voice she very rarely lets anyone hear.

“I have not gone mad, Nat. It’s in the fucking files you put out.” Another silence. “How?” He exales in relief. “I don’t know. But I have to find him. It doesn’t say where he is at the moment… he has a new team… but… I have to find him.”

“With everything that happened, with Hydra, he might not be alive still.” Clint doesn’t allow himself to linger on that thought.

“I have to find him, Nat,” he simply repeats, voice as firm as he can manage. The 'of course' she utters is unbelievably understanding and it makes Phil’s skin crawl in a way that is both terrifying and soothing.

“I have to go to ground. All my covers are blown.” Clint laughs humerously. “You don’t say; mine too.” She continues like he hadn’t interrupted her. “Hill is going with Stark and Cap has his own personal mission, but I think he’ll touch ground at Avengers tower soon. I will let you know when I find something. I will keep this number till I have new communication set up.

When Clint touches ground on American soil he has an encrypted message from Nat. It containes coordinates to some place in the Canadian wilderness, the name Providence and the words 'Good Luck and kick his ass for me'.

 

It takes him another three days to reach his destination. He has no problem to find the spot, but he can’t do much but wait outside for someone to be alerted by the motion sensors he set off deliberately. It takes less than three minutes actually, for the the door in the stone wall to open and a wide-eyed Phil Coulson to exit the secret base.

“Clint,” is all Coulson gets out before Clint has thrown himself against him, pushing Coulson into the wall of the base and yelling.

“You fucking asshole!” He can feel people down the corridor and hears startled noise and what seems to be the drawing of weapons but he cannot care because Phil is real and alive and right there, blue eyes staring at him, body relaxed beneath him despite the force Clint just used.

“I am so sorry,” Phil whispers and it’s all the invitation Clint needs to press close to him in a very different fashion and smash his mouth against Coulson’s. It’s feeling he never expected to experience again and he wants to cry and laugh and yell and melt all at the same time. Relief washes over him and for a second chases away the anger and betrayl he still feels.

Phil is alive. That’s the only thing that matters in the end.


	3. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the other two are basically headcanons of mine. This was inspired by an episode of Avengers Assemble. So maybe this is just set in this universe. Otherwise it's maybe before Trauma and Relief? Maybe it's after it? Maybe it's set in an AU where Phil never died in the Avengers. Anyway. It's hilarious how Clint throws mints at the Hulk in Avengers Assemble. 'Nough Said.

Considering the general state of any place Clint has ever lived in, you wouldn’t think that he is very particular when it comes to hygene and tidyness. He drinks straight from the coffee pot, he eats pizza three days old and he wears clothes that pass the sniff test with a C. When Phil and he start dating, these are all things that Phil is aware of and he expectes them. He is confident he can handle them, even if they go against his own neat rules of clean clothes, throwing take out away, if it's a day old and rinsing your fucking coffee cups so that you don’t run out in the first place.

What he doesn’t expect is Clint to roll away in the morning after they woke up, dodging a good morning kiss, what confuses him is that Clint lips won’t open even a bit after he drank coffee, what upsets him is Clint telling the waiter to 'skip the garlic', when they go out to eat. It takes a while for Phil to get the memmo, but when he sees Clint stuff three mints into his mouth, after finishing his own coffee and before leaning in to kiss him one morning, it all clicks into place.

“Clint,” he says and Clint stops, half leaning down to plant one on Phil. “Yeah, Sir?” Clint asks, not moving away, just kind of hanging there. “Do you have a problem with bad breath?” Clint freezes a bit and that’s all the answer he needs. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Phil asks, deeply confused and also feeling slighly guilty for all the morning-breath-induced and coffee-stenched kisses he has plasterd on Clint over the months. “I know it’s not really weird, or anything,” Clint mumbles, not meeting his eye, “It’s just that I’m super sensitive. I mean you don’t stink or anything. It’s not like you’re the Hulk who I basically throw mints at… it’s just I really like kissing you and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Of course it would be something like that. Phil has to smile fondly before he lets out an exhasperated sigh. “So you’d rather you be uncomfortable?” Clint just shurgs, but a small smile tugs at his lips.

“Here, gimme those mints,” Phil commands and Clint complies easily. He taps three into his hand before putting them into his mouth with a grand gesture that makes Clint crack up. They are the strong stuff and Phil knows he’ll be spicy and minty fresh for a while. In a swift motion he kicks around his chair so that he is right in front of Clint and quickly tugs at his partner who straddles his lap quite readily.

“So, I think you said something about really liking kissing me?” Phil asks inocently. He goes right in for the kill, opening Clint’s lips with his tongue. Clint meets him right there, kissing back hungrily. Everything is wet and slick and Phil has to admit, these mints taste amazing. It takes them till they can’t breathe for them to part. They are still close, sharing air and panting into each others mouths, the scent of mint between them.

“Damn, I think I’m falling for you, Phil Coulson,” Clint gasps, barely audible. The only thing Phil can do is pull him back in.


End file.
